Midnight Mistletoe

“I’m afraid it just ended. You missed it.” Diego came to stand behind her.

When she turned around, a set of Mediterranean blue eyes froze Diego where he stood. Layers of thick, ginger-brown hair framed delicate cheeks. Her glossed lips parted as if she were about to speak, but she didn’t. Diego wasn’t sure angels could speak. She surely had to be one. He’d never seen anyone like her.

She unzipped her sweatshirt, and the flawless, milk-white skin at her throat had Diego’s pulse drumming in his veins. Her body was lean but curvy, muscled yet soft. He suddenly had to dance with her. He must.

After a few moments of staring at one another, a little crease formed between her brows as she dug in her handbag. “Did I get the time wrong?”

Diego almost couldn’t contain the urge to iron out that wrinkle in her forehead with his fingertip. He slid his hands into his pockets and willed them to stay there.

“This pamphlet I saw in the Hotel Luna said this was the time.” She handed the pamphlet to Diego, and their fingers brushed one another’s as the paper changed hands. A shiver rippled through his body. Through both their bodies.

He tore his gaze from her face and scanned the pamphlet. “This is last year’s brochure,” he said. “I had to change the times to fit in two more classes.”

“Business that good, huh?” Her lips curled up into a smile that set Diego on fire. Her entire face glowed with the grin, and he wanted to be burned by that sunshine.

“People love their pasodobles.” Diego shrugged.

“Do you have a recent brochure? I have a few days in Madrid, so maybe I can come back at the right time and catch a lesson.”

“On vacation?” Diego asked.

“Yes. Snap decision. I was in New York like thirteen hours ago.”

“And now you’re here.”

“In Spain.” Melina laughed.

“For Christmas.”

“Feliz Navidad.”

It is now. Diego smiled—a genuine one this time—and folded the old brochure. He tossed it into a garbage bin by the classroom door and walked back to stand in front of…of…

“What’s your name?” he asked.

A faint blush colored her pale cheeks, and she looked like a child’s doll, all perfectly painted. “Dr. Melina Fairlee.” She held out a hand.

As his eyes connected with hers, Diego dropped a light kiss on the back of her hand and held onto it. “Diego Ramos. Your private teacher for the next hour.”